


A Special Speck of Dust

by ExtraPenguin



Category: Expert Judgment on Markers to Deter Inadvertent Human Intrusion... - Sandia Labs, Original Work
Genre: Gen, Misses Clause Challenge, Science Fiction, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8606152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraPenguin/pseuds/ExtraPenguin
Summary: Earth has fallen silent.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lalalalalawhy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalalalawhy/gifts).



> Huge thanks to Myristica for cheering me on, Isis for help with the climatology, my sensitivity reader for making sure I don't inadvertently fail forever re: Islam, Airotkiv for betaing, and the #yuletide Hippo system.
> 
> –––
> 
>  
> 
> _Joy is waking to_  
>  _A glorious assignment_  
>  _And shouting “Hooray!”_

Captain Zafira bint Nujum al-’Anqaa patiently awaited in Admiral al-Ghumaisa’s office. It was the first hour after the second shift’s waking prayer. Zafira was herself a second-shifter, so she’d had a good night’s sleep on which to scramble and find herself a replacement on the Surface Travel Task Group. The work was occasionally exciting, mostly a drudge, and above all necessary.

The Admiral’s secretary buzzed her through. Zafira stepped into another chamber cut into the bedrock and saluted. Zafira eyed the two seated people from the corner of her eye. They looked like the illustrations of East Asians seen in textbooks about Old Earth.

“At ease, Captain,” the Admiral said. She then switched to Trade, confirming Zafira’s guess. “Here are Li Jian and Zhao Xia, from Procyon. Assistant Director Li?”

The man rose and gave a small bow. “Admiral al-Ghumaisa. Captain al-’Anqaa. I am Li Jian, Assistant Director of the Earth Observation Post. Our mission is self-explanatory. We have long observed that the frequency of communications from Earth has been dwindling. At first, we assumed that it was simply better technology – less Earthbound messages being lost to space – but even the check-ins to our colony have stopped.” He paused. “After a decade of complete silence, our board decided to investigate. We dismantled our own colony ship completely, and could only barely send a ship for the two-year journey to your world, where we hoped your colony ship would be usable.” He glanced at al-Ghumaisa. “We were right.”

“Thank you, Assistant Director Li.” The Admiral looked at Zafira. “The Admiralty would like for you to lead the mission, Captain. Each way will be just over seven years in suspended animation – forty-one and a half external – and no guarantees about finding anything at your destination. Do you accept?”

“Yes,” Zafira said with glee. She switched to Trade. “I accept.”

“Excellent,” Li said. “Now, I must return to my people, but Doctor Zhao Xia will accompany you. She is an excellent linguist who has studied many of the major languages of pre-diaspora Earth.”

“Doctor,” Zafira nodded. Zhao nodded back.

Zafira turned back to Admiral al-Ghumaisa when she spoke in Arabic. “Now, Captain, preparations will have to be made-”


	2. Chapter 2

Zafira was woken by a beeping. She coughed out the last vestiges of the cryobox goo from her mouth, then felt around for the box’s release hatch.

There. The lid rose, exposing Zafira’s eyes to the harsh light. She checked that the bots had removed all the tubing, then climbed out of the box, wiped off the goo, and slowly clambered into her uniform. It felt exactly like after that time the transport prototype had broken down on the surface and she’d had to carry her unconscious then-CO across the frozen hellscape for hours: her bones and sinews seemed to have turned off in protest of the cold, and all her muscles ached from use.

Hijab, hat, and steel timepiece. Final hour of fourth shift. Zafira supposed this counted as a morning of sorts. Her brain seemingly left in cryosleep, she sleepwalked to the wudu tap. Performing the ablutions with the cold water brought her slightly closer to alertness.

Now – after a lifetime of qibla being merely the simple task of finding the direction of Sol – a reasonably simple task, albeit troublesome when it was at the zenith or nadir of the sky – the actual direction of the Kaaba would matter, rather than distance rendering the solar simplification accurate. Orbit would add its own complications, but for now, during the final deceleration burn pre-orbit, the Kaaba lay in the direction of the stern of the ship. Zafira faced the engines and prayed.

Still slightly groggy, she shuffled towards the bridge, knowing the walk would shed the last dusts of sleep from her.

 

Executive Officer Lieutenant Sirat ibn Ghafira ibn Kheer al-Fulan, climatologist and one of Zafira’s long-term acquaintances, was awake and on the bridge. Doctor Zhao Xia, leader of the Procyon delegation, was also present.

“Captain,” Sirat saluted. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Zafira said. Hopefully it wouldn’t be suicide tea; Sirat had made that decoction once and all drinkers had suffered.

Black, unsweetened, not boiling. Zafira thanked him. “Anything showing up?”

“It’s warmer than the old records show,” Sirat said. “Well, we did know it was heating up – that’s why our ancestors left – but it’s warmer than I’d have predicted. Average temperature of 28°C rather than the 15°C it was when our colony left. Sea level’s much higher, too – a rise of 70 meters. We’re still analyzing the precise composition of the atmosphere, but it looks like the carbon dioxide levels are high enough that I wouldn’t want to walk down there without a space suit.”

Zafira hissed. “Extinction event?”

Sirat shrugged. “Mayhaps. Lieutentant bint Malja of Cartography says that there’s nothing on the major continents visible to here but ruins – no bright lights on the night side. Disclaimers for cloud cover, of course, but unless civilization is in Antarctica, it’s either small and guarding well against light pollution, or just … _not there_.”

Zafira switched to Trade and addressed Zhao. “Only ruins, we think. Not much for you to do.”

“I would like to look at some of the ruins,” she said in passable Luyteni Arabic, to Zafira’s surprise. “Academic curiosity of sorts. A look at what, precisely, was happening before the downfall. Whether it could have been prevented. How to avoid copying their fate.”

“Very well. Ask Lieutenant Fajr bint Malja’s department for major ruins above sea level. We’ll maser the maps and preliminary results to Procyon as soon as they’re done.” She sipped her tea. It was lukewarm, so she glugged it down. “If you’ll excuse me, I haven’t eaten for over seven years and am in dire need of breakfast.”

 

Cup of ful midammis in one hand, with a hummus-coated flatbread balanced atop it, and a mug of steaming tea in the other, Zafira glided along the corridor to the communications room, near the axis. The centrifugal artificial gravity here was light, and the Coriolis effect noticeable. Zafira had to angle herself so that the flatbread would not suffer the tragic fate of falling onto the floor.

The door to the comms loomed in front of her. In lieu of a knock, she lightly kicked the door.

Lieutenant Kalima al-Marzouqi, head of comms, opened the door. “Welcome to my humble abode, Skipper.”

“Why thank you,” Zafira said. She claimed the chair in comms. “Are we capable of sending a maser message that Procyon could pick up; if not, how long would it take?” She took a large bite of the flatbread. Damn did food taste good.

“A few hours for bint-Lahej bin-Ayam to get the fission plant running properly and we should be able to get a message sent. Why, though? It’s not like they’d receive it for almost twelve years. A bit inconvenient for communication.”

“Oh, I don’t intend to communicate with them.” Zafira smiled. “A bit of pseudo-real-time drama that they can watch unfold, no?” She ate more of the bread. “When you can, send them our preliminary map and climate analysis, as well as whatever else the specialists have produced. Make sure the Procyonites are sending you their data, too.”

“Yes, sir,” Kalima said. “Understood, sir.”

“Good,” Zafira said. She eyed her ful. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the spoons were packed?”

 

Some days later, map done, analysis done, people wrangled and ship in orbit. Check. Network of small communications and imaging satellites distributed in multiple different orbits. Check. Hydroponics running well and Chef al-Goswami installed. Check. Qibla whilst in Earth orbit figured out (face where the Kaaba is at the start; Allah will forgive) and muezzin awoken. Check. Zafira took her first break since arrival. She had a pot of green tea and a stack of books that she didn’t have the wherewithal to touch. Perhaps in a few more tens of days. She had no desire to ignore the sense of tired satisfaction seeping through her, anyway – nor concentrate on the foreboding brought by orbiting a dead world.

Alas, the door pinged. Zafira keyed in – Doctor Zhao Xia.

Doctor Zhao bowed. “Good evening, Captain al-’Anqaa. I have selected a site I’d like to study further.”

“Ah? Good. Please, do come in,” Zafira said. “Tea?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Zhao sat in the indicated chair while Zafira poured her tea. She tapped the table as thanks.

After Zhao had had some time to settle down with her tea, Zafira asked, “So, what site would you like to study?”

“Well, it’s actually just one of many identical-looking sites, Captain.” Zhao smiled shyly. “They’re roughly square, and covered with jagged earthen barriers radiating from a central area with various structures in the middle. They’re all clearly constructed to spec as a global effort, and radiate a sense of ‘Do Not Enter’.”

“No wonder you want to go there.”

Zhao smirked. “Exactly. Now, which one should be investigated – that is up to you. I expect your people will have opinions on fuel requirements and such. They’re all sited away from city ruins, so no chance to look at those, I’m afraid. A lot of ruins, too. It seems there was a war at some point; major population centers that should have survived the flooding – haven’t. Religious and cultural heritage sites, too.”

Amongst them, Mecca. How did one mourn a holy city unseen for generations, after one had slowly drifted from belief and fervor towards quiet agnosticism and habit? The doubtless counterproductive habit she’d developed after her parents’ death was to push emotions aside and deal with them later. Or rather, _not_ deal with them. “Are there any ruins you’d like to look at in particular? Places you knew had extensive libraries, perhaps?”

 

The Captain did not leave her ship. Neither did the Executive Officer. Zhao Xia was accompanied onto Earth by Pilot Officer Khayal al-Rasheed, Private Zihni Suheimat, and a bunch of Procyonites: an archaeologist, another linguist, and a woman whose job Zafira hadn’t caught.

Zafira was on the bridge, watching the shuttle’s descent. It would soon emerge from its plasma shock bubble and communications could then be reestablished. Technically, the plasma itself wasn’t a problem: far-infrared wavelengths could still penetrate the plasma. Alas, those wavelengths would be absorbed by the rest of the atmosphere.

Zafira keyed an internal comm line to the communications room. “Status on contact?”

“Think we got it. Just a sec, sir.” Jubilantly, Kalima declared, “Contact is go!”

Zafira smiled. “Are we broadcasting this to Procyon, Lieutenant al-Marzouqi?” she asked.

“Aye-aye, Skipper.” A pause. “Oh, is Sirat bin Ghafira supposed to be breathing down my neck?”

Zafira sighed. “No, he’s supposed to be asleep.” Well, Sirat wouldn’t miss this. “Send him to the bridge. Out.”

“Yes, sir!” Kalima cut the comm.

Sirat al-Fulan soon emerged sheepishly onto the bridge.

“Don’t think you can hide from me, Lieutenant,” Zafira chided him.

“Sorry, sir,” Sirat said, not in the least bit sorry. Zafira could only roll her eyes.

“The lander’s banking successfully,” Pilot Officer al-Rasheed’s cheery voice came in over the comm. “Touchdown in 15 minutes. Over.”

“Thank you, Pilot Officer,” Zafira acknowledged. “Keep us posted. Out.”

“So it begins,” Sirat said. “The return to Earth.”

“A rather temporary one, at that.” Theirs was not a mission of colonization. “Earth is uninhabitable for us.” They observed the lander’s steady progress downwards. “Do you know how many colonies were founded? How many people got out, and how many were left?”

“Ours was the third, was it not?” Sirat asked. “I suppose an analysis of the craters would yield information on how long it has been, and we could estimate from that. Or from the absence of asteroids used as building material.” He paused.

“Touchdown in one minute. Out,” the comm crackled.

Zafira, Sirat, and the bridge staff all drew their attention to the large screen onto which Ensign Najwa al-Juhani had put the main camera feed. The lander slowly descended, and in a display of Pilot Officer al-Rasheed’s skill, it gently tapped down onto the graying ground. She cut the engines. “We have landed. Over.”

“Thank you, Pilot Officer. Over,” Zafira said.

“Entering the airlock,” Zhao’s voice came. “Airlock cycle complete. Carbon dioxide levels are at double the normal values. Air pressure compatible with space suits. Exiting the airlock.” The camera feed on the screen switched to Zhao’s suit camera. She slowly turned a full circle, showing the arid landscape from which the banks jutted up menacingly, as well as the lander’s undamaged exterior and the bulky suited figure of Private Suheimat. Zafira glanced at the readings Ensign al-Juhani had overlaid on the bottom right of the screen. To Zafira’s eye, the radiation levels were high, but that was more a product of her norms being born from generations of underground habitation with only occasional forays to the surface. The temperature inside the suit was also tolerable, despite the suits being modified topside suits designed to protect from the freezing cold rather than the melting heat.

The fifty-meter-high berms of earth were even more foreboding from the vantage point of Zhao’s suit camera. The red desert seemed the color of dried blood in places, only adding to the feeling of danger.

“Climbing the corner bank,” Zhao said.

 

It was slow going in places – Zhao’s homeworld’s gravity was slightly less, and the slope was steep – but eventually she and Private Suheimat arrived at the top.

As seen by the camsats, the site was square, seven klicks diagonal, and the barriers radiated out from a central plaza with structures. From here, one could see that the structures consisted of multiple tall cylinders, some old decayed buildings, and a large statue of what looked to be a human face.

“Permission to approach, Captain?” Zhao asked, obviously itching to get nearer.

“Permission granted, Doctor. One of you stays with Pilot Officer al-Rasheed at the lander, and you must keep Private Suheimat with you. Go take a walk. Out,” Zafira said. “Now, we wait.”

Sirat suppressed a yawn. “Tea, sir?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” Zafira said. As Sirat went to stave off sleep – hopefully without burning himself – she observed the trek of Zhao Xia, Private Suheimat, and two of Zhao’s crew. The second linguist was cooling his heels with Pilot Officer al-Rasheed.

No-one was broadcasting sound on anything but the local channel, so their walk atop the ridge was eerily silent, fitting with the foreboding landscape. A shiver ran down Zafira’s spine. The horizon was far, far away. She averted her eyes from the viewscreen and reminded herself of the walls around her. Brushing her hand against the steel desk helped return the illusion of control over her environment.

Sirat returned with a full teapot and then fetched some mugs. “Tea?”

Zafira picked one of the mugs and mutely gave it to him, then observed the screen. How much worse would the hypnotic effect be when one was actually present? Probably less for the Procyonites who’d grown up on the surface.

Sirat handed her a mug of perfectly regular black tea, not suicide strength. “Thank you,” Zafira said. “Now, feed me, Lieutenant.” It would still be three quarters of an hour before the ground party reached their destination; she might as well reap the benefits of delegation, the basis of every organization.

“Yes, sir,” Sirat said, and sodded off to fob the task of cooking onto someone else.

“Tea’s there for the drinking,” Zafira said to everyone else and went to sit further from the vast teapot. Trust Sirat to be ambitious with regards to how much anyone could pick up.

One by one, the bridge crew came up to pour themselves tea. Zafira watched the ground party’s progress and sipped tea. Sirat brought her a pita wrap with a generous filling of shawarma, tabbouleh, and pickled turnips.

Something living flickered at the edge of the camera, though it might have just been the wind playing with the earth. It had looked like a cat the color of the local red soil, slinking away from the human intrusion.

 

Zafira had consumed her nourishment well before Zhao turned on the far-broadcasting on the radio for anything more than quick status checks. When she did start talking, Zafira stood up.

“Almost at the bottom of the slope. The statue’s face seems to have a negative expression. The structures are of some sort of stone, and come in two forms: tall and squat. They seem to be of two different materials with a gap in between; perhaps there’s something on the interior surfaces?” Zhao switched to addressing her party. “Liu, take Private Suheimat and see if there’s anything buried in the earth. Chen, come with me.”

Liu and al-Rasheed stayed put whilst Liu searched the area at the start of the berm with a metal detector; Zhao took Chen with her and went to look at the monoliths.

“There’s a main stone of – granite, I think – with what might be concrete in a U-shape around it. It’ll be a tight fit, but I should be able to look within.” Zhao shimmied in, facing the granite monolith. The suit’s camera showed only stone, but Zhao appeared to have found something, for she said “Ah!” and then unclipped the camera from her waist to take pictures. “Sorry, you’re probably not getting anything. It’s a Rosetta stone with the same, albeit short, text in eight languages. The final one appears to be a later addition. Let’s see if the others are the same!”

 

The monoliths had a variety of things. A few carried longer texts in seven languages and one had an eight one carved in, most had the short text in the same seven languages and occasionally the eight one, and a couple had a sequence of arrow-connected images where a person touched a barrel that had a trilaterally symmetric symbol and then died.

Waste disposal. Well, Zafira supposed it could’ve also been a tomb with highly expensive anti-graverobbing features, but a waste disposal site was certainly logical.

Zhao and Chen were currently staring at the entrance to one of the half-buried buildings.

“Perhaps if we dig sand we could enter?” Chen suggested.

“Too narrow, our suits wouldn’t fit.” Zhao sighed audibly and cursed in her native tongue. “Go make some notes on the engraved pictures or the statue; I’ll see if I can fit my arm in enough to take pictures.”

“Certainly, Doctor,” Chen said with all the glee of an academic asked to do their favorite thing, and bounded off.

Zafira watched Zhao contort herself and blindly take photographs of whatever may lie within, when Liu appeared on the general channel.

“We’ve discovered a capsule of some sort!” she declared. Ensign al-Juhani switched to Liu’s body camera. Liu was holding a ceramic spheroid with weathered text on it. It reminded Zafira of Traditional Arabic, though it could have been a different language written with the same letters, or even so that any apparent similarity was but a product of the erosion.

“There’s a lot of metals and other materials with characteristics far from the dirt they’re in, as if they’re trying to appear noticeable to various means of searching,” Liu said. “There’s also wood interspersed in it; could we bring a few samples up for radiocarbon dating?”

On the one hand, science. On the other, potential biohazard contamination. “Can you keep the sample under strict quarantine conditions and keep it from potentially contaminating anything?”

“Well,” Liu began. “Yes. We did bring a lot of sterilization supplies, so I could simply put it and the carbon dating apparatus through a similar routine as the suits and cameras and such. I have bags at the shuttle that should be good enough for bringing samples securely up.”

“Very well. You have permission,” Zafira said. Liu thanked her, then began arranging for the shuttle to land closer. Zafira idly watched the landscape as Liu walked around in search of a landing site.

The numbers in the bottom right-hand corner were off: the suit-internal numbers were the same as the suit-external ones.

“Ensign, switch to Zhao’s camera. _Now_ ,” she ordered.

Darkness.

“Private, go see what’s happened to Doctor Zhao.” Ensign al-Juhani switched to Private Suheimat’s suit camera.

It didn’t take him long to get to the half-buried building Zhao had been looking at. The suit was lying on the ground, helmet off. That should not have happened without an alarm sounding.

Suheimat shouted out Zhao’s name. No response.

Zhao crawled out of the building, panting, camera in hand, looking like the cat that got the canary.

“ _Doctor_ Zhao Xia,” Zafira said. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

Zhao stood up and lifted her chin. “I went to photograph what lay inside, _Captain_ ,” she said in Luyteni Arabic.

“You could – _should_ – have waited for a snake camera. As is, you have subjected yourself to radiation, high temperatures, and all manner of biohazards from the environment. Dust yourself as best you can and get back into your suit immediately. Then, undo the sabotage you did. Private, escort her to the lander once it arrives.” Zafira consciously uncurled her hands.

“Yes, sir!” Private Suheimat saluted. Zhao mutely obeyed Zafira’s commands and then stood still, watching Pilot Officer al-Rasheed bring down the lander at the edge of the central plaza.

 

In the hour or so it took for the lander to return, decontamination procedures were readied. After the decontamination of the outsides of the suits, al-Rasheed, Suheimat, Liu, Chen, and the other linguist continued into the main chambers of the ship. Zhao went into quarantine.

 

Later, when Sirat was officially in command (on something less than a good night’s sleep) and Liu was trying to puzzle out how radiocarbon years would relate to real years, Zafira went to visit Zhao.

Zhao was held behind a thick sheet of clear plastic, in a room with basic amenities and an airlock that the ship’s doctor could use to come look at her. Zafira stood still and looked at the meditating Zhao.

“Was it worth it?” Zafira asked.

“I can do my job just as well from here as from outside.”

“You exposed yourself to who knows what bio-organisms as well as a significant quantity of radiation, not to mention the carbon dioxide and other pollutants.”

Zhao opened her eyes. “I am a child of the surface. You grew up with hundreds of meters of rock to shield you from cosmic radiation. The tunnels you have lived in for your whole life have been strictly climate-controlled. For me, the amount of radiation on Earth’s surface is _normal_. The carbon dioxide levels are slightly high, yes, but less high than for you. Your people scrub out any and all harmful micro-organisms because of the threat they pose to your vat food cultures. Mine vaccinate against the worst and let others be. I took a calculated risk, Captain. I knew what I was getting in to. The risk simply wasn’t all that huge. Sure, I might die of an antibiotic-resistant superbacterium, but given the short time of contact, that is highly unlikely. On the other side of the scales, I received a lot of data.”

“And how much of your explanation is retroactive justification?”

Zhao fell silent.

Zafira sighed. “Let us hope that you are right and I am wrong. Now, though, I have other matters to attend to.” She rose and left. She could feel Zhao’s eyes burn on her back.


	3. Chapter 3

“Captain?” the ship’s doctor, Hayaat al-Majali asked in hushed tones.

“Yes, doctor?” Suspicion as to what – _who_ – this was about tugged at the back of Zafira’s mind. She let herself be pulled to an unpopulated section of corridor.

“Doctor Zhao has fallen ill,” he said. “I have gone over the quarantine measures again and found them adequate. She rapidly became extremely exhausted and had a fever rise. She’s now also reporting joint pain. She claims to have suffered similar afflictions back on Procyon, though I fear that this might have evolved beyond what her immune system can handle.” He paused. No doubt he’d be making some sort of risky suggestion.

“I request permission to take a swab and quick-culture a sample to see if it’s a viral infection. If it is, I could give her antivirals, but their effectiveness is the better the earlier they’re given, so I would appreciate a quick decision.”

Ah. “Is there any risk to giving her antivirals if she doesn’t have a viral infection?”

“Increased resistance within the viral population, rendering such treatments less effective in the future.”

They’d soon leave, and Zhao’s illness should warn off others. “This will be an isolated case. Give her the antivirals.”

“Yes, sir,” doctor al-Majali saluted. When he walked off, he had doubt in his stride.

Zafira had heard the horror stories of antibiotic-resistant bacteria. One potential excess would not do the same for a virus, but she had to make sure that there would be no slope to slip on.

 

The next day, after praying maghrib and thus ending her shift, Zafira felt herself be drawn to where Zhao was in quarantine.

Zhao was currently sitting on the one chair in the spartan quarantine quarters, wrapped in blankets, looking miserable. Her eyes were bloodshot, and even her hair looked to have lost its glossy sheen.

Zafira paused to try and gather her wits, but there was nothing to be said. No words would lend aid – only presence.

“How does it feel?” Zafira said softly.

“Don’t gloat just yet, Captain,” Zhao croaked. “I’ve weathered worse. About time my immune system got a workout.”

“How does it feel?” Zafira repeated.

“I’ll feel dreadful and mope for the next week or so, then ramp up to fineness over some days. No need to take my word for it, though, I won’t be going anywhere so you can just come and ask.”

“You’re awfully nonchalant about this.”

“Is not all of life a facetious affair?” Zhao sighed. “I have survived the flu multiple times. I doubt this is worse than any of the others, for I doubt _it_ drove humanity into extinction. Depending on how long the virus can survive in the soil, it might even predate the exodus. Trust me, or if not me, then the ship’s doctor.”

“Very well. You’ll forgive me if I maintain my doubts. Drink your tea and prove me wrong, but don’t put yourself at risk again.”

“I doubt you’ll let me out of here to risk myself,” Zhao wryly stated. “I shall simply have to sit here and contemplate philosophy. Perhaps once my brain becomes more lucid and reliable I could do some work, but Ling reliably informs me that she’s already got most of it, and the messages were written with intentionally simple grammar. For warnings intended to last millennia, it makes sense, but it would have been nice to get some more complex grammar, for that is often one of the first things to get rearranged.”

“You’ll simply have to argue over interpretation. Always a favorite amongst academics, I’ve observed.” Zafira shifted her weight and wished for a chair to sit on. A design oversight. “But tell me, what philosophical observations have you come up with?”

“Well. Evolution has always favored surfaces and interfaces – the brain’s efficiency comes from the large ratio of surface area to volume – and surfaces are where things like catalysis are possible. Humanity evolved on the surface of a planet, and most colonies ended up on surfaces. Not yours, though. Luyten’s Star did not have a habitable planet, so you ended up living in the bulk, away from the surface. I am sure that this has affected your character, though really I’d need at least one other subterran society and a control group of similar Earth-cultural background.”

“Harsh environments make for harsh societies. The greatest influence on our psyche has always been the eternal snowstorm raging above. What is it but a desert at a different temperature?”

“Ah. What an apt analogy. I must think more on this.”

“Rest, Doctor. Rest,” Zafira told her. “Now, I must go, for soon first shift shall be praying isha.”

“You rest, too,” Zhao said as Zafira departed.

 

The next day, during the second half of her shift, Zafira went to check up on Lieutenant Aydi bint-Lajej ibn-Ayam in Power.

“How’s Power?”

“Up. Running. Maintenance cycle scheduled for first shift noon tomorrow.”

Zafira perched herself on the empty corner desk. “Any problems, recently or otherwise?”

“The systems kept themselves up over the trip, and regular maintenance will keep them up hereon.” She glanced at the power plant readouts and then returned her attention to Zafira. “Would it be possible to inspect the containers the waste was buried in? Are they copper capsules, like at home?”

 _No._ “Why?”

“Over time, any solid behaves like a viscous liquid. At home, we have our own fission waste to bury, and it is impractical to perform creep tests with a timescale of thousands of years. If the waste was buried with a few empty capsules, as well as the technical specifications of the capsules, it could help illuminate a heretofore unexperimented-on set of material behavior.”

“If there is a second trip down, we’ll see whether there are any empty capsules. _If_ , mind.”

Lieutenant bint-Lahej ibn-Ayam made a gesture of acknowledgment. “If.”

“I will keep your wish in mind,” Zafira acknowledged.

 

Over the past week, Zhao’s team had figured out which languages the warnings were written in, and completely translated them, as well as dated the installation to be from the latter end of the exodus.

“Have you transmitted the summary of the findings yet, Kalima?”

“Yes I have, sir. Though I think the Procyonites back on Procyon will be more interested in Doctor Zhao’s fate.”

“Ah yes. Such is the nature of humanity. I suppose we may as well attach a photograph of her, recovering.”

 

When Zafira next had the chance to go look at her, Zhao was asleep.

 

Lieutenant Fajr bint-Malja approached Zafira the next day.

“Sir.” She saluted crisply. Zafira returned it.

“Permission to change to a polar orbit, sir? It is hard to observe the polar regions properly from our current equatorial one, and the rest of the planet has been properly mapped.”

“Permission granted,” Zafira said. “Have the Pilot change to a polar orbit.”

“Sir.” Lieutenant bint-Malja saluted again, and then departed to implement the change in orbit.

 

“Are you better?” Zafira asked Zhao.

“I am tired. Otherwise well, but extremely tired. I feel like I could fall asleep any moment now,” Zhao said.

Zhao did look drowsy, but Zafira couldn’t resist. “I would accuse you of being serious, but all of life _is_ a facetious affair.”

Zhao snorted. “And _now_ you discover a sense of humor. Oh well. Yes, life is a facetious affair, but I would like to rest now, so that I can prove you wrong sooner.”

“Has this … illness not incapacitated you?”

“Inconvenienced, yes, incapacitated, somewhat. The thing is, I will live to tell my tale.”

“When you were in the room, did you notice any copper capsules of the sort that the waste would have been buried in?”

“Copper?” Zhao frowned. “Where did you get that idea? So far, the translation is ‘large metal containers’ and they contain things like tools, bags, and safety clothing, in addition to plain nuclear waste.”

“Back home, nuclear waste from our few fission plants is buried near a subduction zone, in copper capsules.”

“Ah. These were from an atomic weapons programme, so from reasonably early on in the nuclear timespan. I do not think they’d put much thought to disposal; it seems a little … post facto.” She suppressed her yawn badly.

“Tired?”

“Always.”

Zafira pressed her hand to the glass. Zhao reciprocated.

“Rest,” Zafira said.


	4. Chapter 4

Some days later, after Zhao Xia had almost fully recovered from her ordeal and Doctor al-Majali had declared her non-contagious, Zafira invited her over for tea.

“Feeling better, Doctor Zhao?”

“Much. In fact, I feel almost human now.” She bit her lip in thought, then visibly came to a decision. “And – please, call me Xia.”

“Very well, Xia. I’m Zafira.”

The corners of Xia’s lips quirked up. “Thank you for inviting me up for tea. How is the ship?”

“It runs, for we successfully stem the inevitable tide of entropy. The power plant was down for maintenance, but it’s up and running well now. Comms has a small malfunction in the internal signal router system, but it’s nothing we can’t fix. The ship’s engines and controls are sturdy and are still working as well as they ever have.” Zafira sipped tea. “The crew, however, are succumbing to malaise. I suppose we all hoped that Earth had merely fallen silent out of finding sending messages to elsewhere pointless and wasteful, or some other best-case explanation. Coming here to find our worst fears confirmed – no humans in evidence, the holy sites of Islam destroyed along with all other human residences – was a large blow.”

Xia cocked her head. “And how does that affect _you_ , my Captain?”

An excellent question. “I … Islam is more than simply the worship of holy sites. We will continue, as we always have. Allah will … understand.” She should have left it at that, but felt compelled to continue. “My personal philosophy has been that things I cannot affect, I should not worry about. Things I can affect, I should affect. It has served me well, over the years.”

“You should give a speech,” Xia suggested.

“Please, no. I hate public speaking almost as much as I hate paperwork. Public speaking I can avoid, unlike paperwork, for with great power cometh great paperwork.”

Xia had an impish grin and a silent laugh. “A shame; it seems like you have a talent for words.”

“For words, perhaps, but not speaking. I tried holding a motivational speech early on in my career, but it ended up being rather _de_ motivational instead. Having one’s underlings cowering in fear is in general not desirable-” Zafira was interrupted by her comm chirping. “Sorry, it seems like Cartography has something to say.” She punched Lieutenant bint-Malja through. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, we have discovered what looks like a small town on Antarctica, as well as what might be smaller settlements. It’s on the shore of Ross Bay, near the archipelago that was Western Antarctica, and the other settlements seem to be along reasonable ocean travel routes from it. Over.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Observe more overnight; we will discuss action on the second hour of first shift in the meeting room. Out.” Zafira extended the invitation to all department heads, then turned back to Xia. “Looks like you’ll get to speak to actual living people.”

Xia’s grin had reached face-splitting proportions. “I am glad to have the opportunity.”

 

At the meeting, Zafira first asked Lieutenant bint-Malja to repeat her findings. (Zafira, of course, had read it all beforehand, like a good Captain should.)

“Sir.” Lieutenant bint-Malja stood and nodded, then spoke to everyone present. “We have discovered evidence of significant Antarctican population. There is a town where the Ross Ice Shelf once was, at the foot of the Transantarctic Mountains, at the junction of West and East Antarctica. Near it, we have witnessed many solar panels, and the plant life seems atypical of the rest of the region. There are also smaller settlements – flanked by solar panels – elsewhere around the Ross Bay, at the foot of the mountains and on the archipelagal remnants of Marie Byrd Land. Other potential locations are on the shores of the bay where the Ronne Ice Shelf was and in the archipelago that once was Ellsworth land.”

“Do you have a population estimate?” Sirat asked, doing his very best at not looking sleepy.

“Somewhere in the vicinity of one to two million spread around the bay, though that wouldn’t take into account any less technological herders on the Antarctic Steppe, or any low-tech fishing communities. Or, indeed, any significant underground construction.”

“What communications capabilities have you observed?” Kalima asked, rapt with attention.

“They might have some sort of radio tech, but I haven’t seen any evidence of large receiver dishes or telescopes.”

“Would landing be a possibility?” Xia’s desire to go talk was painfully obvious.

“There _is_ a flat surface near enough, though the people might be hostile. Or dead from some sort of superbacterium.” Zafira made a note to tell the Lieutenant that on-the-nose remarks were best left to the Captain, thank you very much.

Xia looked very hopefully at Zafira. “Could a landing be arranged, my Captain?”

Polar regions were annoying to land to due to the whole “planetary rotation” business, but yes, it could be arranged. “Yes, it could. Provided you promise to keep your surface suit on this time.”

“I shall endeavor to do so.” Xia smiled.

And with that, it was decided.

 

Again, the lander was piloted by Pilot Officer al-Rasheed, carrying down Xia, Zhou the linguist, Chen the anthropologist, and Privates Suheimat and al-Kasasbeh.

Zafira was there to watch the final launch preparations. The lander was undergoing post-flight checks, and the passengers had not yet quite put their helmets on. She spotted Zhao Xia and walked over.

“Everything going to plan, Doctor?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, my Captain.” Xia smiled. “And before you ask, yes, the plan _does_ include keeping all of my suit on.”

“I’m glad.”

Pilot Officer al-Rasheed announced that all but the final pre-flight checks had been completed, so if the passengers could board the lander, please.

“Good luck, Xia,” Zafira said.

“Be seeing you, Zafira.” Xia smiled and waved as she strode to the lander.

The final checks took only a short time, and then the lander departed, the whole ship sighing with the vibrations it left behind. Zafira found herself sighing softly with it.

 

It took Xia and her team multiple nail-biting days in Antarctica to decipher the Trade-based creole, but when they did, it was glorious: the locals had improved solar panel efficiency, their battery technology was intriguing, they’d genetically engineered plants to produce several important medical chemicals, and the installations in the sea were for water splitting, where the sunlight caused the catalysis of water into oxygen and hydrogen, and the hydrogen would be stored as fuel for winter.

The locals, like all surface-dwellers, had based all their society around sunlight, so many of their discoveries would be useless to the Luyteni, but Lieutenant bint-Malja had still burst out into a rare smile upon acquiring technical specifications for some of their energy-production means.

After desolation, hope. Zafira poured herself another cup of tea and waited contentedly for Xia’s return. She put on some music – one of the recordings of folk songs, this one about the dangers of cats turning red.


End file.
